


No Rest for the Witted

by TheDarkFlygon



Category: Caduceus | Trauma Center Series
Genre: Brotherly Love, Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, Overworking, Sickfic, Victor Niguel Swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22837456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkFlygon/pseuds/TheDarkFlygon
Summary: Fundamental truths of Caduceus USA:-They’re a public-founded, independent medical research organization which fights against the incurable.-Their staff is amongst the cutting-edge elite of the medical world.-Their leader has never lost a fight.That last bullet point may or may not be a good thing, depending on who you ask and when.
Relationships: Caduceus USA & Sidney Kasal, Greg Kasal & Sidney Kasal
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	No Rest for the Witted

**Author's Note:**

> This is a shorter, scatterbrained fic because, as always, I have no idea of what I'm doing and need to fill the very niche, specific concepts I come up with. What can I say? I just love the OG Caduceus USA staff. If I could have squeeze Cybil in there, trust me that I'd have.

Winter’s chill doesn’t spare anyone it comes across, seeping through almost-closed doors and supposedly sterilized environments. That’s a lesson Derek learnt back in med school, troubled a few times by watching professors come and go with wheezing voices, while Tyler just sat through the lectures unperturbed. 

Now that they’re both working for the revered Caduceus, he can safely state that fact… really hasn’t changed.

That’s the cruel reality of the medical sphere. If your job is to heal people, then you need to do so even if you’re yourself not in any peak condition worth of that name. Derek wishes he could have said “not that I’d myself know” and chuckle the fact away, but as it stands, he’s operated while under the influence of a fever before. Well, that, and the time he may have almost died from a sudden bioterrorist infection. You know, usual things in the life of your everyday surgeon.

Still, they do have the right to a sick day if the stars aren’t aligned against them. Last week, Stephen caught one of the remaining flu strains out there from one of his kids. Sidney gave him an illness leave without Stephen even having the voice to ask for one, perhaps because otherwise he may have given the flu to patients and it wouldn’t have been pretty. 

One other fact Derek has learnt throughout his years as a surgeon is that, yes, doctors do make for terrible patients. It was his own mentor at first trying to rise from his bed while his liver was being slowly devoured by a GUILT strain, then himself for actually trying to do his job as a Caduceus USA ambassador in Europe merely days after being operated on; and yet, even with that in mind and considering everything he’s seen so far, he’s still surprised by what he’s seeing.

After all, it’s not exactly every day that you see the iron-rigid frame of Sidney Kasal, his mentor’s supposedly polar opposite twin brother, almost break into a coughing fit as he busted open the door of the lounge room. 

“Can we do something for you, chief?” Tyler asks almost without batting an eye, even if the doubtful frown of his eyebrows says otherwise.

“With Dr Clarks only returning tomorrow, we need someone to take care of his scheduled procedures. Has this been decided between you all?”

“Huh, Director…” Leslie sounds a little embarrassed as she gets up from the sofa. “We’ve done that after you asked us last week. Has Dr Clarks requested another sick day?”

Sidney looks up, pensive.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Director?” She asks, the embarrassment on her face turning into concern. 

“I must have forgotten about it, please excuse my intrusion. By the way, if you come across Victor, could you tell him I need to see him in my office asap? It’s about Caduceus USA’s annual report to the main administration.”

“We’ll do so, sir,” Angie finishes.

They all watch their director take his leave in silence, aside from the cough he muffles in his sleeve, until Tyler speaks up again.

“Yep. He’s _definitely_ sick.”

“It’s been that way for a few days too,” Angie points out, throwing her cup into the trash bin. “Dr Clarks didn’t even have an operation scheduled for today, it’s his day off.”

“Ah, yeah, you’re right! That must be why I was so confused.” Derek may be less reactive than anyone else (they’re all sharp-minded, he’s a little more forgetful, he’ll openly admit), but that doesn’t make his instincts any less accurate. 

“Someone will have to tell him he’s being reckless, eventually,” Leslie comments, glancing into her fuming cup of coffee. “Sooner than later too.”

They all stare at each other in an awkward silence.

“Well… At least, if Victor tells him, he’ll at least listen to him, right?” Derek muses out loud, already dreading having to disturb his researcher colleague in his work. 

“I’m pretty sure he’d consider that losing a fight. And you know how the chief is about losing fights…”

Tyler has a point there. A point that doesn’t make any of this easier to go around with, but a point nonetheless. 

“We’ll just have to see, then.”

  
  


In the end, Leslie is the one who goes to fetch their colleague. In turn, it means that, merely hours later, even _Victor_ couldn’t convince the iron-willed director to take at least one day off. It’s evident as soon as he enters the lounge room, smoking with anger and pouring a metric ton of swears onto them.

“Something ’bout that annual report thing to do on time. Deadlines and shit. Won’t fuckin’ listen!”

“Hey, dude, would you calm down and explain to us more calmly?” Tyler interrupts him, frowning. “We’re as worried as you are, y’know.”

Victor seems less than pleased about being responded to that way, and everyone else in the room is already holding a breath; yet, to their surprise, after they open back their eyes, they don’t find Tyler discarded to the other side of Caduceus or strangled against the wall. 

“He wanted to see me for that stupid report of his because I didn’t submit my research for it yet. He was coughing more than he was speaking, so I pointed out that I couldn’t understand jack shit as long as he hacked instead of talking. He didn’t like that, but I didn’t either, so at least we’re on the same page there. That’s when he told me about his incoming deadline. That shit’s next week, but he insisted that it was in two days or something. By the way, Stiles, he told me you forgot your own report. Still haven’t filled your paperwork?”

“Wait, what?! You can ask Angie, I gave it to him yesterday!”

“I can confirm,” she adds with a smirk, even she drops it merely moments later. “Still, the director would never lose such a document.”

Victor seems doubtful, but then crosses his arms, shaking his head.

“I’ll believe you, for once. I submitted my report last week.”

Tyler almost lets his cup fall from his hand.

“Guys, this is worse than we thought.”

It’s funny how trust works in this place. They’re supposed to rely on their director for everything, or at least for things out of their field of reference (which can be translated to “quite literally anything that isn’t related to surgeries or medicine”); but here they are, coming up with a plan to sneakily force the man himself into his bed rather than his office.

It’s not like their doubts have waited today to emerge either. The question has come up multiple times in at least a week, maybe longer: the box of tissues between the piles of papers that kept growing in height on his desk, the less and less limpid instructions they’d receive, the incoherent thoughts, and now the lost reports that have caused everyone to suppose their colleagues didn’t fulfill their part of the deal. Talk about a mess. All of that because, as it turns, you’ll never find more stubborn than Sidney Kasal, not even his own brother. 

They’ve brought it up to him before. That he looked pale, that he looked flushed. Nobody has dared saying the word “sick”, especially not when knowing what happened to him before (well, Victor may have today, on second thought); but that may have been a mistake on their part. He won’t even acknowledge his weakness, in this case, because it’d be like losing a fight against, what, himself? Nature? The flu? Is that even a fight? Isn’t he fighting his own health, at this point?

It’s not rare to see light coming from his office, even during the night shift. Angie has brought that up a few times over the past week, usually because she’d ask him if he needed anything she could fetch him, since he seemed so busy covered in his papers. If he didn’t refuse, he’d only ask for a cup of coffee, a glass of water, silence, in that very order. She didn’t need to go through his drawers to know he had headache medicine boxes emptied out.

Well, he must have other deadlines to deal with if he’s pulling this many all-nighters. Not that any of them would know.

The day nonetheless rolls around. Like every Tuesday, it’s Derek and Angie’s turn on the night shift, so they’re the ones chugging on the coffee for tonight. Caduceus is as calm as it comes, these days, now that the epidemic has passed and the next hasn’t rolled around yet. The corridors are empty, the rooms are mostly unoccupied, sounds echo in peace. It’s peaceful and eerie all the same, which tends to either soothe or stress him out. 

Like the last time he was on the night shift, light pours out in rays from the director’s office. He’s kind of sadly used to it, at that point; yet he nonetheless knocks on the door. Angie is busy caring for the few patients they have over, and he’s about to go back to his paperwork before calling it a night as the five o’clock sun rises: he figures it’s his turn to fetch Sidney a cup of coffee, a glass of water and silence. (He thinks about the conversation he’s had with Tyler earlier today, wondering if he shouldn’t lace the coffee with sleeping pills…). He gets no response, so he knocks again. No response. 

The director is either unconscious or asleep, at that point, so Derek gently opens the door, causing it to creak to oblivion (the empty corridors really, really don’t help with this sudden noise issue). 

“Huh… Director?” He asks to the void.

He can’t see much from where he is, his sight obscured by the mountains of papers piled on the desk. His shoes squeak against the linoleum floor, yet he can’t stir a move. Okay, it’s either a deep sleep, a coma or unconsciousness. He can just hope it isn’t any of the two thirds of this.

“I hope you don’t mind me intru…”

Before he can finish his sentence, Derek realizes there’s nobody in this office; so he quickly leaves the room, shoes squeaking even harder and door creaking even louder. 

When he brings that up to Angie, she stares at him in disbelief, until they realize their director may as well have just forgotten to turn off the lights. After all, if Derek himself has forgotten when rushing out of the room, the director could have done so too, especially considering the state his mind has to be at the moment. That’d mean he at least gets some well-needed, much-deserved sleep. Yep, they’re _really_ desperate for something to get better, at this point.

Still, by the time morning rolls around and the next shift comes, they don’t see the director show up at any point, not even to get himself something to drink or eat. Speaking of which, has the man even eaten, recently? If his illness keeps worsening, his appetite must have dripped down the drain ages ago. They need to do something about it and now, but what? And how?

Wait. They _do_ have a secret weapon. Someone who may know a solution to their issue. If he can get a call to go through, he may just find the way out of this mess… He pulls his phone out and...

_“Do you know what hour of the night it is, Derek?!”_

An explanation is quick to change the one on the other side of the line.

_“…I’m coming.”_

As always when the next shift rolls around, the people who’ve worked the previous one and those who arrive for the next exchange some words in the lounge before the night truly ends and the day actually starts. This time, Derek and Angie get to welcome Stephen back after a week of the flu thickening the air of his house and high-five with Leslie before going back home. For once, Victor is here, and the reasons why so are somewhat unclear until they remember what the main worry of Caduceus is at the moment.

A reason that doesn’t fail to show up soon after, wearing a suit which has seen better days, clouded glasses about to fall from his nose and exhaling in wheezes. He looks as rich in colour as a corpse, unless you consider the patches of red plastered on his face. And even then, watch Sidney try to keep his dignity intact as he forces himself to stand up straight while his body wants him to lean against their door frame…

“Good to see you back with us, Stephen…” He coughs out, a hand to the side of his chest. 

The stare the surgeon gives him just says it really hasn’t been just their imagination going wild.

“Director, with all respect due, you’re in no condition to be working. Please give yourself an illness leave.”

“I can’t do that. A director has to…”

“...has to set a good example for his subordinates !” Angie chimes in, her fingers tangled over her chest. “That means you need to rest and take care of yourself when you’re sick! Please, Director…!”

Sidney only coughs in a handkerchief as a reply. That says a lot, coming from this man, especially when his eyes start rolling into his skull with no warning given.

“Director!!”

They all panic but, in the end, Victor is the one who catches him in his fall, looking more and more displeased by the moment.

“Jesus Christ in a test tube, did you decide to become a fucking human over or something?!” 

“Language, Victor…” 

“I’ll watch my language when you’ll watch your own damn ass, chief!”

“Leslie, go fetch a thermometer, please,” Stephen says as he goes to fetch his own director on his shoulder, slowly and gently dragging him into the lounge room. Not the ideal place for an examination, obviously; but it’ll have to do.

“Always have one on me, doctor!” 

Even in such an unflattered position, the director is more than stubborn, staring at Leslie and the stick she puts out of her chest pocket with contempt.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he wheezes out, coughing right afterwards; and that’s when she takes advantage of his vulnerability to squeeze the thermometer into his mouth. 

“It’s there or we’re gonna have to stick it in a less dignified place, chief,” Victor chimes in.

The glare Sidney gives him means a lot, yet his silence almost remains. 

“If you think you’ll win like that…”

He’s about to spit the thermometer back out when a voice suddenly emerges from the corridor, not quite unknown nor truly familiar to most of Caduceus. 

“I wondered why Derek would call me in the middle of the night, but I can’t say I don’t understand now.”

“…Greg….?!”

Most of the staff makes way for the older Kasal who showed up in his scrubs: from what they can deduce, he’s just gotten out of his own night shift and doesn’t look too amused about having to fetch his younger brother from the latter’s workplace. Well, who’d be, after all.

“I thought Derek was exaggerating and I _wish_ I was right on that call. Let’s get you back home because your chest infection can grow worse.”

“How…” No matter what he tries and how many times he clears his throat, Sidney won’t stop coughing any sooner. “How who’d you know that even…?”

“You can’t even breathe properly without coughing for the next hour, chief. Doesn’t take a PhD to guess you’re sick.”

Victor’s words echo through the room, since nobody has anything to add. 

Instead, in the almost-silence, they all get to watch the famed Dr Kasal of Hope Hospital examine his own brother without the latter bothering to fight back. He must have admitted defeat and, as sad as it is to watch, it’s a collective relief.

“103.6 Fahrenheit,” the doctor states as he stares at the thermometer he’s just gotten a hold of, a smirk on his face contradicted by frowning eyebrows. “The doubt isn’t allowed anymore, don’t you think? It’s about time you get an actual treatment.”

He gives her thermometer back to Leslie, thanking her, before giving a hand to his brother, lifting him back to swaying feet and catching him in his fall.

“Let’s get you an actual diagnosis. Hope’s not too busy right now, I can get you one.”

“But…”

“Your deadlines will be fine, Sidney. I doubt you can fill papers properly in that condition.”

They see their director either about to snap or break down, but he just puts his glasses on the bridge of his nose instead.

“If you don’t want to make your subordinates worry after you, start by not overworking yourself like that.”

Sidney is about to reply before another coughing fit possesses him. 

“We don’t need to call Dr Hoffman on you, right?” Stephen asks, hands in his lab coat pockets. 

A lack of vocal response.

“We’ll try taking care of your paperwork ourselves,” he continues, “if the annual report is what you’re worrying about. Have a nice recovery.”

They eventually hear from the director’s mouth words they never thought they’d ever hear coming from him, now that his arm is propped over his brother’s shoulders.

“...You win.”

That’s, of course, before he remembers his reputation and otherwise stainless victory record.

“But, if you need me, don’t hesitate calling…”

“Yeah, sure, we’ll do,” Victor replies without even attempting to hide his sarcasm. “Just go rest and don’t give your shit to everyone else, chief.”

Once the Kasal brothers leave through the door, one of them swaying and the other firmly supporting his younger sibling, a collective sigh can be heard in the lounge room. 

“Well, the night’s been long, so we’ll be going…” Derek says as he rubs his temples. “You’re coming, Angie?”

“Sure thing. Goodnight and take care, everyone!”

“Be careful on the road, you two,” Stephen adds with a small smile. “We’ll call Tyler if we need backup. Goodnight.”

It’s with heavy feet and heads full of thoughts that they both leave Caduceus, relief and a new sort of curiosity inhabiting their leaded limbs. 

In the end, they only truly slept after learning, through a call from Greg, that their director had managed to turn a cold into a bronchitis. It’d have been more amusing if they hadn’t seen the wrecked frame and worsening condition of a man too stubborn for his own sake.

In a way, that’s what makes Sidney Kasal a real part of the medical world: he’s as bad of a patient as his surgeon of a brother.


End file.
